


make my wish come true

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A Christmas Carol AU, M/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Told you. ‘M the Ghost of Christmas Past.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“But. You’re Zayn. Have you… have you been a secret ghost this entire time?” Liam’s voice sounds a bit hysterical and he’s about three seconds away from hyperventilating.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“Liam. Relax. ‘M not actually Zayn, just, like, occupying this form ‘cause it’s familiar to you. Think of this as a dream, if it helps."</i>
</p><p>Liam is visited by three ghosts on Christmas Eve. Very, very loosely based on 'A Christmas Carol.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	make my wish come true

**Author's Note:**

> title from mariah carey's 'all i want for christmas is you'

I.

“Liam! _Mistletoe!_ ”

Liam looks up, and sure enough, there’s a little bough of mistletoe dangling above their heads.

“You have to kiss me,” Louis says seriously, but his eyes are sparkling despite the dim party lighting and his words are slightly slurred. He jabs his finger up, nearly hitting Liam’s nose. “It’s the _rules_ , Liam.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Liam laughs before leaning down to peck a quick kiss to Louis’ cheek. “Happy?”

“No,” Louis huffs, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “I’m standing under mistletoe on my _birthday_. I want a proper kiss!” His words are definitely slurred and Liam can smell the vodka on his breath.

“You’re drunk,” he says.

Louis somehow manages to look down his nose at Liam, despite his shorter stature. “It’s my fucking birthday. Of course I’m drunk. Give me my kiss, Liam.”

“So demanding,” Liam teases, but he reaches a hand out to cup under Louis’ chin, tilting his face up. Louis closes his eyes expectantly, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a tiny smile.

There’s a hitch in Liam’s breath that he hopes Louis can’t hear over the pounding music. Louis’ never really understood the concept of boundaries, always pushing, pushing, _pushing_ until you push back. It took Liam a long time to get that, to figure out that all Louis wanted was someone to push back.

Things had been easy, after that.

Before he can second guess himself, Liam swoops down again, this time pressing his lips to the corner of Louis’ mouth. The kiss doesn’t last long, no more than a few seconds, and then he’s pulling back, his warm brown eyes meeting icy blue.

Liam can feel his blood pulsing to the beat of the music, or maybe it’s his pounding heart. He licks his lip, pushing down the familiar feeling of self-doubt that still flares up from time to time, the one he’s never quite been able to shake despite the band’s success.

“Better?” he asks in an embarrassingly hoarse voice.

“Mmm,” Louis hums. “You’ll do.”

They’re interrupted by a loud shout (“Tommo! Happy fuckin’ birthday!”), and the moment, if there was a moment, is broken. A drunken smile slides sloppily onto Louis’ face as he turns away from Liam, flinging out his arms to greet his guests.

Later, Liam watches with fond amusement as Louis makes an ass of himself dancing in the middle of the crowded living room, basking under the attention. He tells himself its normal, the swooping sensation in his gut, when Louis meets his eyes across the sea of people, smiling bright just for Liam.

Someone starts up a chant for shots and Liam gets swept along, a glass pressed into his hand, clear alcohol sloshing over the rim onto his fingers. He goes to lick it off and cringes at the taste. There’s laughter then, loud and obnoxious right in his ear. It’s Louis, of course it is; it’s _always_ Louis.

Shots suddenly sound like a great idea, actually.

Liam passes out on the couch around 3am, his head swimming with alcohol and Louis’ warm laugh still ringing in his ears.

 

II.

Liam wakes himself up coughing, waving a hand in front of his face to clear a cloud of cigarette smoke.

“Wha?” he asks dumbly, still half asleep. He’s rewarded with another billow of smoke and Zayn’s rough laugh.

“No smoking in the house,” he mumbles, turning his face into the couch cushion. “Louis is gonna kill you.”

“Bit of a problem there, mate,” Zayn replies. “‘m already dead.”

Liam cracks an eye open at that. “Can we have this conversation in the morning? It’s too early for an existential crisis.”

Zayn gently slaps his face. “Nope, sorry. We’re on a schedule.”

“You schedule your crises?” Liam is too drunk, or maybe too hung over, for this discussion.

“Actually, this is _your_ crisis, if we’re getting technical.”

Liam groans. “Please, Zayn. In the morning, yeah?”

But Zayn is tugging insistently on Liam’s arm, pulling him up into a sitting position. “Look, bro, I don’t know how to, like, explain this in a way that makes sense, so I’m just gonna come out with it, okay?”

“Okay…” Liam echoes uncertainly.

Zayn clears his throat importantly. “I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

Liam stares at him. “You’re the… Ghost of Christmas Past?”

Nodding, Zayn takes another drag of his cigarette before flicking the butt into an empty beer can.

Liam slumps back down onto the couch with a groan. “Whatever Louis paid you to pull this prank, I will double it, okay? Just let me go back to sleep.”

“Maybe I should just show you,” Zayn muses. “Take a deep breath, okay?”

“Um,” Liam says as Zayn reaches out and clasps his hand tightly.

The last thing he sees is Zayn’s reassuring grin as the world starts spinning alarmingly and everything fades to black.

*

When Liam opens his eyes, his stomach is still lurching. He’s no longer sitting on the couch, but appears to be backstage at some bustling concert venue. It’s sort of like one of those nightmares where you show up at school in only your pants, because all he’s got on is the worn t-shirt and trackies he fell asleep in.

Zayn, of course, looks as effortlessly cool as he always does in a black on black ensemble, skinny jeans paired with a leather jacket. It grounds Liam a little to see Zayn in this familiar look, because his head is absolutely reeling.

“Oh my god. Where are we? _How_ are we…? What the hell is going on, Zayn?”

“Told you. ‘M the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“But. You’re _Zayn_. Have you… have you been a secret ghost this entire time?” Liam’s voice sounds a bit hysterical and he’s about three seconds away from hyperventilating.

“Liam. _Relax_. ‘M not actually Zayn, just, like, occupying this form ‘cause it’s familiar to you. Think of this as a dream, if it helps. Look, no one can even see us. We’re just here to watch.”

Now that Zayn (or the ghost masquerading as Zayn, or whatever the fuck is happening right now) has mentioned it, none of the people running around backstage have acknowledged or even seemed to have noticed them.

“Oh,” Liam gasps. “This is like that Christmas story! With Scrooge and the ghosts.”

“Very good, Liam,” Zayn says, amusement lacing his tone. “Didn’t think you’d actually read Dickens.”

Liam feels a blush heat his cheeks. “I haven’t, actually. But I saw the film!”

Zayn snorts. “‘Course you did. Look, let’s get on, shall we? Lots to see.”

“Wait,” Liam says as Zayn leads him towards the stage. “Why is this happening? I’m not, like… I’m not like Scrooge, am I?”

The ghost shoots him a look that’s half fondness, half exasperation, and all Zayn. “No, Liam. You’re not a miserable bastard like Scrooge. I can’t tell you why this is happening, though. The point is for you to figure things out for yourself.”

“Right,” Liam says. That makes sense. In a weird, nonsensical sort of way. This whole thing is kind of surreal, and Liam’s having a hard time wrapping his head around things.

“So, where exactly are we--” he cuts himself off when the stage comes into view. Liam is staring at himself, four years younger – god, was it really only four years? – with a microphone clenched tightly in hand and a determined smile pasted on his face.

“Oh,” he breathes out as his younger self opens his mouth to start singing. It’s his X-Factor audition. Liam feels a rush of emotion as the memories coming flooding back, sharper than they have been in years. He can remember the almost desperate hope that left no room for nerves, the feeling of vindication when Simon gave him one massive fat almighty _yes_.

The final note is barely out of his younger version’s mouth when Zayn is tugging on him again. “Schedule to keep,” he mumbles, and this time Liam is prepared for the way the world swirls into blackness.

*

It takes him less time to get his bearings the second time around. Now he and Zayn are standing in front of a familiar set of stairs as five familiar boys file down, plopping onto the steps. Liam feels his eyes widen, but in truth, he’d forgotten just how _young_ they were on the X-Factor. Louis is wearing some ridiculous get-up, a shirt buttoned to his chin, complete with a bowtie and thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

Liam can’t suppress his cringe at how awkward they all were, but especially at the way his younger self has to keep hiding his smile, pressing his face into his knees as Louis shouts ‘Superman!’ and rips his shirt open.

“God. We were idiots, weren’t we?” he asks Zayn, forgetting he’s actually talking to a Zayn-shaped ghost.

“I’m embarrassed on your behalf,” comes the reply, Zayn’s lips twisted in a teasing smirk.

“Oh, shut up,” Liam says, but there’s no heat behind the words. He watches the five boys on the stairs, feeling weirdly like an intruder in his own memories. From this angle, he’s able to see how serious Louis’ face becomes when it was Liam’s turn to talk, thinks maybe the tension he remembers wasn’t just in his head.

“You look awfully fond,” Zayn murmurs gently.

“Doesn’t look like it was mutual, eh?” Liam tries for an easy, joking tone, but it comes out a little strained.

“Well. You two figured it out eventually, didn’t ya?” Zayn asks, looking pointedly at Liam’s forearm. Liam rubs his hand over his tattoo self-consciously.

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

“C’mon.” Zayn says gently. “We’ve got more to see.”

Zayn takes them rapid-fire through the X-Factor, letting Liam watch snatches of time before whisking them to the next scene. Liam’s head is spinning by the end of it, feeling déjà vu and nostalgic all at once.

He also feels a growing sense of confusion. All of the memories Zayn has selected have a common element: Louis.

Liam’s not dumb, okay; he can figure out where this ghostly intervention is going. Clearly his feelings for Louis have outgrown the neat little box marked ‘friendship’ and have maybe, accidently, spilled out until they filled up every little crevice of his heart. And it’s fine, all right, he can acknowledge that. It’s not like he has to _do_ anything about it.

What’s confusing, however, is that in most of the scenes Zayn has chosen to show him, he keeps catching glimpses of Louis’ face when young Liam wasn’t looking. Louis looks puzzled and frustrated in equal measures – no surprise there, they really did _not_ get on during the X-Factor  – but sometimes Liam will catch Louis’ face wearing an expression he can only describe as _want_.

“What,” he starts to ask Zayn, but Zayn just shakes his head. “Can’t help you there, Liam. Anyway, our time’s up. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

He grabs Liam’s arm before he can protest and before he knows it, the world is black again.

 

III.

Liam sits up abruptly, heart pounding and feeling disoriented. A quick glance around reveals he’s back on Louis’ couch, soft snores coming from a few party-goers that have passed out on the floor instead of heading home with the crowd.

He settles back on the cushion, breathing deep until his racing heart settles. It was a dream. A strangely vivid, incredibly realistic dream, but a dream nonetheless.

His eyes have just slipped closed again when someone flings themselves bodily on top of him.

“Hmmpf,” Liam grunts, staring up at Niall’s grinning face.

“Hey Liam!” he greets enthusiastically. There’s a garland of holly dotted with red berries adorning his head at a jaunty angle.

“Get off me,” Liam groans.

“Grumpy, ain’t ya?”

Liam breathes a little easier as Niall climbs off him. It hits him a minute later that Niall left the party hours ago, arm around some pretty girl that Harry whispered hotly in his ear was a Victoria’s Secret model.

“Oh god,” Liam says as the realization dawns. “You’re--”

“The Ghost of Christmas Now, yup.” Niall beams.

“I thought it was the Ghost of Christmas Present?”

“Ah, shit. Think you’re right. The Ghost of Christmas Now has a good ring to it, though, doesn’t it? Bit more, I dunno, modern sounding.”

“Sure,” Liam says slowly.

“Anyway,” Niall continues, carefully adjusting his festive crown. “Your buddy Zayn took his fucking time, so we’re a bit pressed. If you’re ready…?” He offers his arm, and Liam reaches out to grasp it, expecting the now-familiar dizzy feeling.

Instead, Niall pulls him to his feet and leads him down the hall.

“Um,” Liam says as Niall pushes open the door to Louis’ room.

Niall gives Liam an exasperated look. “Oi, if ya wanted ‘t do the fancy travel thing, you shouldn’t have passed out twenty feet from our destination. I’m the Ghost of Now, don’t get a lot of options, do I?”

“I guess not,” Liam agrees, reluctantly following Niall into the dark bedroom.

Louis is curled up in the middle of the bed, a small lump under the blankets. Only his head is visible, his dark hair tousled with sleep.

Niall offers no commentary, just slouches against the wall and fixes his gaze on Louis. Liam glances back and forth between Niall and Louis’ sleeping form, growing increasingly more anxious as nothing happens.

“Are we just… gonna watch him sleep, then?” he whispers. It occurs to him, suddenly, that this might not be a dream, but Niall having a go.

“Shh,” Niall shushes him. “I can see you freaking out. Stop freaking out.”

“Yeah, that’s _really_ helpful advice,” Liam hisses, mindful that Louis could wake up at any moment and catch Liam watching him like some sort of voyeuristic pervert.

“Seriously, mate. It’s just like it was with Zayn – he can’t see you as long as you’re with me. We’re good, all right? Now shut up and watch, something meaningful’s supposed ‘t happen.”

Liam huffs, but falls silent, leaning against the wall next to Niall. Louis snuffles a bit in his sleep, curling into a tighter ball. Liam feels a pang, wishes this was something he was allowed to watch all the time. Louis looks younger asleep, the tension leaking out of his face, leaving him relaxed in a way he never is awake.

He looks peaceful, Liam thinks, and he gets the sudden urge to wrap his arms around Louis’ prone form, protect him from the world.

Louis squirms a bit under the blanket, his brow furrowing, and Liam can see his eyes flickering beneath his closed lids as if he’s dreaming. He lets out a little sound, a sleepy, nonsensical murmur before falling silent.

It’s a minute before he twitches again, his mouth falling open as his breath quickens. His eyes never open, though, and Liam is almost positive he’s still asleep, lost in a dream.

“Niall,” Liam says slowly as a thought occurs to him. “This… thing that’s happening. Am I dreaming?”

Niall shrugs. “It’s open ‘t interpretation, I guess. You wanna call it a dream, it’s a dream.”

“So, if I’m dreaming, about Louis dreaming…”

“Inception, innit?” Niall says, laughing loudly. “A dream within a dream.”

“You don’t think Louis is dreaming the same thing I am, do you?”

“Nah,” Niall says easily. “We’re all busy with you, aren’t we? Besides, he doesn’t need any, ya know, spiritual guidance to figure out what he wants.”

“What do you mean?” Liam pounces immediately.

“Shit. Fuck. Forget I said that, actually.”

Liam’s about to complain when another sound interrupts them. Louis is making more noises in his sleep, little groans that sound like half-formed words.

“Mmmpf… lee… please… leem…”

It takes Liam a minute to realize that it’s his own name Louis is groaning in his sleep.

“Is he dreaming about _me_?” Liam asks breathlessly.

Niall grins. “Be a safe bet.”

Eyes fixed on Louis now, Liam watches as Louis keeps wriggling, breathing a little heavier. He’s still gasping out Liam’s name, sprinkled here and there with a “please” or “c’mon.”

Liam and Niall notice that Louis’ hips have started moving beneath the blanket at the same time, and Niall quickly grabs Liam’s arm. “Ah, think you’ve seen enough here, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, “we should… go…” He can’t quite take his eyes off Louis though, and Niall has to drag him forcibly from the room.

“So!” he says brightly, once Liam is safely back on the couch. “That was. Well. I think we’ve all learned something today, haven’t we?”

“Sure,” Liam says, still a little dazed. He physically shakes himself, trying to clear his head. “So, are we done then? Do I get to wake up tomorrow, and all of this will just have been a strange dream?”

“Not quite,” Niall smiles kindly. “C’mon, Liam, you’ve seen the film. You’ve still got one more to go.”

 

IV.

Liam didn’t think he would drift off again (that is, if he wasn’t asleep and dreaming this entire time. It’s been a very confusing night, all in all, and his brain feels fried), but he wakes up to someone shaking him gently.

“C’mon, Liam, wake up,” someone says softly in his ear.

Liam opens his eyes blearily, and yeah, he should have seen this coming.

“Thought you were supposed to wear a cloak, be all creepy ‘n shit,” he mumbles.

Harry pouts. “Cloaks are stupid,” he whines. “It’s, like, a metaphor for death or something. I’m not a grim reaper, and I refuse to buy into stereotypes.”

“All right,” Liam says agreeably. “You’re not gonna show me my own grave then?”

“No,” Harry snorts. “What kind of lesson would that be? There’s a _theme_ here, Liam, and it isn’t death.”

Relief washes over Liam as he realizes what the theme actually is and whose grave Harry could have showed him. It takes him a minute to collect himself, and he clears his throat before informing Harry he’s ready to go.

Harry smiles cheekily as he grabs Liam’s arm and the blackness surrounds him again.

*

They’re at a wedding.

Harry has brought them to the front of a lavishly decorated church, the pews overflowing with people. Liam recognizes most of the crowd as his own friends and family, but is startled by the changes he sees in some of the once familiar faces.  It’s clear some time has passed between the present and now, whenever ‘now’ is.

Liam turns towards the front of the church and his stomach hits the floor. Standing at the altar is an older version of Liam, his jaw stubbled lightly and broad shoulders filling out an expensive tux. He looks nervous but excited, the corners of his eyes etched deep with laugh lines.

A murmur runs through the crowd as music starts up, reverent notes floating up from a baby grand piano towards the vaulted ceiling.

Liam and Harry watch as the wedding party starts proceeding down the aisle. Liam is unsurprised to see his boys walking towards him with pretty, but unrecognizable girls on their arms. He’s a little thrown by how much older they appear, the way their boyish looks have been completely replaced with the harsher lines of adulthood, age carved into their faces by the hands of time.

He feels the first wave of unease after Zayn, Niall, and Harry have joined older Liam at the front of church and the crowds hums expectantly. A moment later, a figure draped in white lace appears at the back of the church, grasping the arm of an older man Liam doesn’t recognize.

His blushing bride and soon-to-be father-in-law, no doubt.

Liam turns to Harry. “Where’s Louis?” he demands. “Is he sick or something? Why isn’t he at my wedding?”

The look Harry gives him is full of regret. “Can’t tell you, Liam,” he says softly. “Can only show you.”

The panic is building in Liam’s chest now. “Harry. Whoever the fuck you are. I need to know. Is he… is he…” his breath is becoming ragged and he forces himself to steady his breathing before he starts hyperventilating. “Tell me the reason that Louis isn’t here isn’t because he’s dead. Please. I need you to tell me that.”

“I can’t tell you, Liam,” Harry repeats, sounding a little miserable.

“Then _show_ me,” Liam orders.

Harry gives him an unreadable look, but nods, reaching out to grab Liam’s arm.

*

When Liam’s head clears, it’s obvious they’re in another church, another wedding. Liam shoots Harry a questioning look, but Harry just shakes his head, pointing towards the altar.

Liam turns towards the front of the church and his heart lurches when he spots the groom. It’s unmistakably Louis. Without thinking, Liam stalks down the aisle. No one notices, of course, because this is some kind of weird, ghost-induced dream. Liam tries to remind himself of that as he approaches Louis, his steps faltering as he nears.

Up close, Liam can see the strain in Louis’ careful smile, the dark bags under his eyes barely hidden underneath what must be a touch of foundation. Zayn is standing next to him, the same tension running through the line of his shoulders. The rest of the groomsmen are Louis’ friends from before the band, faces Liam barely recognizes.

He turns towards Harry, the question on his lips, but Harry just shakes his head.

This isn’t fair, Liam thinks. It isn’t fair that he’s just shown these glimpses of time, no explanation, that he doesn’t get to know _why_ , what possibly could have happened in this unknown future that would result in him and Louis missing each other’s weddings.

A hush falls over crowded church and Liam whips around towards the back. Walking towards them down the aisle is Eleanor, decked out in a lavish dress and looking utterly gorgeous.

Liam feels like he might throw up.

He turns towards Harry, accusation in his eyes. “No. This isn’t… this doesn’t happen. They broke up, Harry. They broke up _months_ ago. They don’t… they can’t get _married_.” He can hear the way his voice is shaking, stuttering over the words.

Harry squeezes his arm reassuringly. “Think you’ve seen enough, yeah? Let’s get you back home.”

Liam is thankful, this time, for the way the spinning drowns out the sight of Louis and Eleanor standing together at the front of the church, hands clasped and smiles tight.

Right before the blackness rushes over him, he hears Harry murmur, “Interesting, isn’t it? Don’t know if you were more upset that Louis missed your wedding, or that he married someone who wasn’t you.”

 

V.

Liam wakes up gasping. It takes him a minute to get his bearings, early morning sunlight streaming through the windows, making his eyes sting.

He realizes he’s on Louis’ couch, still in last night’s clothes. There are empty bottles everywhere and an incredible amount of glitter and tinsel strewn about the living room, evidence that the party was a massive success.

Liam’s mouth is dry and there’s a dull throbbing in his head. He feels sluggish and disoriented, but there’s a growing sense of urgency that he’s supposed to be doing something important right now.

He sits up, rubbing at his temple. There are shards of memory, strangely vivid, but it’s like a kaleidoscope and he can’t quite fit the pieces together. He closes his eyes, a brief reprieve from the glare of light, but the harder he tries to remember, the more it slips through his fingers.

All his hungover brain can come up with is images of Louis: young and brash and loud at 18; curled in sleep, looking younger than his 22 years despite the stubble covering his cheeks; older, with laugh lines carved deep, a ruggedness to his already attractive face.

The last vision of Louis sticks in his mind, older than Liam’s ever seen him, his chest a little broader, filling out a tux as he stands at the front of the church, looking down the aisle at…

Oh, god. Liam dreamt about Louis’ _wedding_. The rest of his dream comes rushing back then, playing out quickly like someone hit the rewind button in his brain. Louis’ wedding, his own wedding, Louis asleep in bed, groaning Liam’s name, Louis on the X-Factor, looking at Liam like he was a puzzle only Louis could solve. The ghosts of Harry, Niall, and Zayn with their heavy-handed symbolism, because god knows Liam would never catch on otherwise.

It was a dream, he realizes, just a dream. He’s not Ebenezer Scrooge, he just had one too many drinks, and his brain got a little carried away after that almost-kiss. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Taking a deep breath, Liam opens his eyes. The light isn’t so harsh now, filling the flat with a warm glow despite the chill outside. Liam rakes his gaze over the coffee table, hoping someone left a water bottle or something equally refreshing within arm's reach.

He can’t stop the gasp that escapes when he spots it. Lying amongst the empty beer bottles is a garland of holly. It’s unmistakably the same one Niall, or ghost-Niall, or whoever the fuck, was wearing last night.

“Okay,” he says aloud. His voice is sleep-rough and low, and he coughs to clear it. “Niall must’ve been wearing that last night, and then I dreamt about it. Not a big deal.”

“Talking to yourself, Li?”

Liam looks up, startled. Louis is walking down the hall towards him, looking rumpled and still half-asleep. Liam’s heart lurches painfully as Louis smiles warmly at him.

With a flash of clarity, it’s like the pieces slot into place. It doesn’t matter if it was a dream or an alcohol-induced hallucination or even actual divine intervention. There’s no pretending that Liam’s heart doesn’t skip a beat whenever Louis is around, that it didn’t shatter into tiny pieces when Liam thought Louis was marrying someone else.

It’s _Louis_ , of course it is; it’s always been Louis.

“Lou,” he chokes out as Louis reaches out to ruffle his hair as he walks by the couch. Liam grabs his arm, drags him down.

“What’s this, then? Christmas cuddles?” Louis melts into his lap, easy as anything.

Liam licks his lips. “I, um,” he starts, tripping over his own words.

Louis looks up at him, eyes tired but happy. He’s like an open book and Liam has a hard time remembering that there was ever a time he couldn’t read him clearly.

Liam hopes he’s read this right, but knows it's a chance he’ll regret not taking.

“You know I love you, right?” he asks.

“Course I do. Love you too, idiot.”

Liam smiles despite the nerves fluttering in his belly. He doesn’t give himself time to back out, just ducks his head down until his lips are pressed firmly against Louis’. Louis gasps a little, but doesn’t pull away. Feeling a little bolder, he snakes an arm around Louis' thin shoulders, tentatively slides his other hand in the hair at the nape of Louis’ neck.

Louis reacts then, kissing Liam back fully, sighing a little against his lips.

When Liam pulls back a moment later, Louis buries his head in the juncture between Liam’s neck and shoulder, hiding his face from Liam.

“There mistletoe or something?” he mumbles into Liam’s shirt.

“No, I… will you look at me, Lou?”

Reluctantly, Louis raises his head, meeting Liam’s steady gaze. Liam is relieved that he can see the emotions written clear on Louis’ face, the fear, the hope, the absolute _trust_ he has in Liam.

“I love you,” Liam whispers. “I’m in love with you, okay? And I just. I needed you to know that.”

Louis stares at him a moment. “If you’re fucking with me…”

“I’m not! I would never, fuck, Louis, you know I wouldn’t joke. Not about something like this,” Liam says fiercely.

“Okay,” Louis says. “Okay,” he repeats, sounding more sure. “Then I’m going to need you to kiss me again.”

*

It’s not until later that Louis remembers to say ‘I love you’ back. It’s nice to hear aloud, but not really necessary.

Liam already figured it out.


End file.
